


Recollection

by hannahrhen



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Fix-It, Gen, Iron Man 3 Spoilers, M/M, Possibly Pre-Slash, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That’s the thing about an immortal, Tony Stark: He can wait you out.</p><p>(Spoilers for Iron Man 3.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recollection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [junes_discotheque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/junes_discotheque/gifts).



> Let's put "fix-it" in quotes, shall we?
> 
> For JD, because [Fruits of Our Transgressions](http://archiveofourown.org/works/448259) is awesome, and for other reasons that may be clearer at the end of the story.

Steve was on his way out the door when Tony noticed the hesitation. He’d stopped by to pick up new chest armor for Clint’s team--nothing radical this time, just tweaks to allow for greater ease of motion and, of course, better protection from enemy projectiles. Had to keep the kiddos safe, after all, Clint’s barely-legal archer army that was--God--less than half Tony’s age.

While his staff moved the boxes into Cap’s vehicle, Tony stood at the door with a fretful Captain America. Goodbye delayed as Tony waited for the inevitable waver and break, he watched with humor as Steve’s internal moral debate happened entirely in the man’s own head.

If Steve had had a hat, its brim would have been nervously crushed between his hands. After all these years, Tony mused, and now pushing a century instead of a spring-chicken ninety, Cap could still get anxious around Tony. Could still worry about whether he was doing the right thing.

Tony offered his best encouraging smile, which he’d been reassured was still unsettlingly wolfish. “Anything you want to tell me, buddy?” 

And ... the crack, which shouldn’t have stressed Cap out as much as it did--”the right thing” was pretty much always whatever Steve decided to do. “Something weird from Fury,” Steve began, and, yep, there it was. “He’s calling us in, but won’t tell us why. In the chatter behind him, though, I’m pretty sure I heard someone say ‘security breach.’”

Tony’s mouth pinched. Not good. Security breaches in anything that SHIELD owned or maintained usually had a body count, small now or bigger later. “And you want me to--” He waved a hand vaguely.

Steve snorted. “Yeah.” So, break into what he could, since he hadn’t officially been part of the Avengers team in a decade. Since Killian. Sure, they still turned to him for defensive gear, but he had “civilian consultant” stamped on his file, clearance spotty. The calls, when they came, were infrequent and, in Fury’s case, resentful.

“Already done,” he said as he ushered Steve out the door. If Fury knew how much Tony actually consulted on SHIELD-related business, he would have been even more hostile. But, hey--never let it be said Tony wasn’t thoughtful; with Nick’s one coronary, anything that kept him from (more) stress was only a good thing, right?

So it was just a half-hour later when Tony was prodding JARVIS for updated passwords and security codes, leafing through screens of reports from SHIELD lackeys, trying to see exactly what was--

JARVIS cut in: “Sir, I must inform you that--” And then he was cut off. The lights dimmed, shut down entirely, leaving Tony in utter darkness in the windowless room. The silence was complete, too--the dull hum of electricity-powered gear shut down just as completely.

“JARVIS! JARVIS--hey, Jay,” Tony called into the black as he waited for the emergency power to kick in. Nothing. He felt his way toward a systems interface. “Come on, buddy, let’s get you--”

The lights--only the lights--came back on, but as he blinked around the room, Tony realized it he wasn’t seeing the normal artificial sources; instead, the walls were illuminated from floor and ceiling in a slow-pulsing, colorless glow that circled the room. Illuminated by nothing at all that he could see.

Weird. And, in Tony’s experience, “weird” meant “get the fuck out, now.” He twisted, quickly scanning the room, and had just set his mind on getting to the stairwell, when--

“Hello, Stark.”

From behind him, of course. _Fuck_ , Tony thought--it had been a decade. A goddamned decade, and the voice was as strong a recollection as if the invasion just happened. His heart surged, took up a hard pounding beat he also remembered, moments away from a panic attack ... another bad memory stirred by that voice.

His mind shot out, surveyed his options: suits long gone, just fragments under the sea. His few weapons locked in drawers or behind walls ... little practical protection in the house beyond the security system--in his new life, he wasn’t a target anymore.

He wasn’t supposed to be a target anymore.

Tony sighed, air catching in his dry throat. Pepper still wouldn’t get a goodbye.

With all other choices taken from him, Tony turned toward the voice, hoping for his own selfish pride that it was completely obvious how hard he was rolling his eyes. If death came today, now, he wanted it on his own goddamned terms.

“No good story starts this way, but here goes: Baby, I thought you were in jail.”

And there he was, voice made flesh. Loki emerged from a shadowed area of wall, lit by the same sourceless incandescence. His old armor was only partially assembled--leather coat over untucked tunic and wrinkled trousers. Arms bare of ornament. Hair loose and long. Loki was a wound that had barely begun to heal, an addict that had accepted the Twelve Steps but stagnated in the low single digits. His smile, after the years that had barely touched him physically but left him obviously, irrevocably changed, remained unreadable.

The only natural source of light in the room was the scepter held in his left hand.

The scepter. The one Nick assured-- _swore_ had been destroyed.

Tony exhaled a tiny “oh.” His heart pounded faster behind flesh and bone.

Fuck SHIELD. Fuck Nick Fury.

“The alarm sounded as soon as the connection to JARVIS went out,” Tony tried, because, yeah, God of Lies, but it had worked before. “They’re already on their way.” His back was to a low work bench, and he reached back to steady himself, gripping the surface until his bones creaked. There was an alarm, and it had gone off, but too far away, too distant to do any damned good against a _mother. fucking. sorcerer_ who could beam directly into his home.

He remembered the slow approach, Loki moving just as carefully, as smoothly as he had in the penthouse. This Loki looked softer without his armor, but, if it were possible, even more unstable. Thor had said he was imprisoned--that he would never escape. Thor had said--

It didn’t much matter now, did it.

Loki’s smile broadened, as if he could sense--could read the masochistic turmoil of Tony’s thoughts. “I don’t plan on staying long,” the god answered, now inches away, almost--

Tony held up a hand, had it pushed out of the way. Still: “Why? You get out of Alcatraz and--what--I’m the first thing you come for?”

“Not the first thing, no.” Loki gestured with the scepter. “The second.”

Tony snorted. “Wow. I’m flattered.” He tilted his head up, peered with mock-seriousness down his nose at Loki. “My ability to attract freaks with revenge boners must set some kind of record.” If he could just incite Loki to kill him quickly, he could avoid ... whatever this was going to--

The insult was ignored. “You think I would travel this distance, into Thor’s territory, for revenge? Against a mortal?" He huffed in amusement. "Without my intervention, your life will pass quickly, almost beneath my notice.”

What the hell did _that_ mean, “without my intervention?” Before Tony could spit, could slice into Loki with the only weapons left to him, his rage and his wits, the god’s free hand snaked around to the back of his head, digging into and grasping his hair.

Holding him in place, Tony knew. Just to be sure this time.

With a sharp tug, Loki continued, “No, my plans are greater than that. After all, I know what you can be, given the right _encouragement._ ”

“And that’s what this is?" Tony said, trying to pull his head forward, out of the painful hold. His failure ending with a grunt. "Encouragement?”

“You removed your armor, Stark. I merely am pressing my advantage.” The scepter shifted in Loki’s hand as he reseated his grip, lowering it to--

“So, wait--wait!” Tony blocked Loki’s intended path, the trajectory of the device. “Why--just ... why?”

Loki’s expression, if anything, softened, and Tony had a sudden burst of understanding. Could read the smile. Knew _why._ Then: “I can use the companionship,” Loki answered, with an almost-frightening sincerity. “And the inspiration.” The hand pulled harder in Tony’s hair, forcing a final gasp from him. “I can _use_ you, Stark. In every way you will allow me.

“I _will_ use you.”

Jerked from Tony’s clumsy attempts to divert it, the scepter moved to his chest, tip landing on the transplanted breastbone--

\--flared--

\--and Tony Stark--

\--what was Tony Stark--

\--ceased, the gutted remains of self fusing to the bright, joyful, urgent demand of the other. Those needs, those wants--His needs, His wants--all that would ever matter. From chest to crown to soles of his feet, what remained curled into Loki, and Tony Stark--

\--slid, heart-first, into the comforting welcome of Loki’s possessive, fond smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I have Iron Man 3 feels. And to borrow Clint's gist in The Avengers, you and I probably define "fix-it fic" very differently.
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all! You can find me publicly hand-wringing over my writing, or fangirling over other people's, on Tumblr: <http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/>


End file.
